Damaged Demon, Broken Boy
by LadyAlaska
Summary: Tormented by his unforgetting memory, Sebastian is no more the superior hellish butler, but a forlorn, damaged demon. When he feels a familiar presence once more grace the human world, the boy he finds is a broken shell, already used to being abandoned.
1. Butler & Master No More

**I love how short the summary space is-you barely get to know what you're in for! But that aside, this is my first attempt at writing seriously again since my complete writer's mental break down block, but I suspect that's blown over...so now it's time to see if I can, figuratively speaking, walk again! Let's see if Sebastian and that master of his can give me a jumpstart.**

**So please, try not to mind too much the OOCness moments should they occur... I have watched the anime, read a few of the mangas and gushed over the second musical (although in terms of getting to know the characters, it didn't do much and probably just tainted everything)-I'll try my best! And I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes; I'll catch those darn things in time.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Kuroshitsuji and while the plot has been, I'm sure, done numerous times, it's a first for me! :D Now, enjoy and tell me if it's worth continuing.**

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><p>During the dawn of the new century, a feeble, wavering cry arose and with it, a frail sense of awakening that only time would strengthen. Though as fragile as the pitiful summon was, it still caught the attention of a certain demon, for his world had been lifeless, bleak and gray beforehand.<p>

It was that pathetic mewl, that soft hiccup of distress that had the demon rooted by the infant's cradle. With heavy eyes, he watched the tiny being—too small to properly be even called a baby—squirm in loose blankets; there was no tight swaddle to offer him security and his undoubtedly empty little stomach caused him great pain. Though until the awakening was complete, the demon could not infringe on a human's offspring and the most he could do was comfort the neonatal, who been left alone in a dark bedroom, seemingly forgotten in the night.

He extended an index finger, gently brushing it against the infant's soft, damp cheek; instantly, it turned its head, tiny lips parting hungrily, latching onto the middle knuckle, where it began to suck ravenously. Not wanting to disappoint, the obsidian-haired demon pulled his finger away and he was sadly amused when the newborn had the nerve to unleash an angry-sounding little cry before coughing piteously. Once again, he caressed its cheek and a small mouth stretched open, revealing a miniature pink tongue. The demon smiled when two blue orbs alighted upon him; the heartbroken smile threatened to fade when frustrated whimpers began to sound.

The dark immortal leaned down, deeply breathing in the infant's milky scent, nuzzling the side of his face when he still attempted to nurse. He brushed his lips lightly against his forehead, his hands aching to hold the small perfect being, but he didn't dare, since he knew it would only lead to him committing a crime. And while there was nothing physically stopping him from doing such a thing, he was aware of the new rules to be followed. "Forgive me, little one," he whispered solemnly, tightening the blankets with his free hand. "I must leave you here. For until you remember me, there is absolutely nothing I can do."

Each step he took away from the crying wisp of a baby, his deadened heart bled a little more.

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><p><strong> Twelve Years Later<strong>

Now he knew why he had been drawn to her. It wasn't her kind-hearted, infectious smile or her gentle brown eyes that won him over, nor was it her fiendish benevolent soul that beckoned him, though slightly alluring it was—for it was _twisted_. It was simply the way she smelled; a kind of scent that wasn't hers to begin with, but one that coated her clothes, fragranced her skin with an infinitesimal delicateness. It was extraordinarily similar to—

"Well something's got you captivated," the brunette observed, setting down her ice cream sundae.

Now he knew exactly why he had been drawn to her—because it wasn't her, it was _him_; the fated boy who happened to have been walking down the sidewalk across the street; his unmistakable aura radiating dimly.

She turned in the cafe's patio chair, glancing through minimal traffic until she spotted what he saw. "Ah I see Sebastian, he _would_ attract your attention," she said wisely, licking her spoon. She turned back around. "I bet he would be the type to call upon your services—if he hasn't already."

The demon playing part-time boyfriend arched a thin black eyebrow. "You are quite a perceptive treasure, darling," he said, reaching across to take her hand. _He seems to be doing alright._ "Pardon me for allowing myself to become distracted."

"Out of all of them, I got the one who couldn't change with the times." She removed her hand and rolled her eyes. "You've been distracted from the beginning. You're not the first de—devilish boyfriend I've met," she said, smiling sweetly at a passerby. "My best friend had one and he was completely devoted to her…it really was kinda sickening in a way because it only ever ends one way. You guys play our feelings like a well-loved guitar. Bastards."

Sebastian was silent. He was still watching the boy, mahogany eyes mesmerized and glistening with disbelief; hesitancy held him back. _While he seems to be getting closer, he has not yet awakened…_

Her eyes were drawn to faint fuchsia glow on her 'boyfriend's' scarred left hand. She clucked her tongue and began rambling innocently. "He goes to the middle school that's attached to our high school. I think he's in…sixth grade? Such a lil' cutie, but already, it's as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He used to literally bump into me all the time. I had a textile class down there and I was always running to be on time—he's got a bad eye and he'd never notice me coming around the corner and, smack! He'd step straight into my path and I'd send him flying."

_Ah, now that would explain the smell. _

The senior gave a tragic smile, pushing away her desert. She held out her hand, which the demon immediately noticed and took, helping her up. "Take me home to say goodbye. I've got the majority of what I've wanted done and that's good enough for me." She looked across the street, though the student had long disappeared. "You've never looked that way at me, so he must be better." She suddenly laughed happily, flashing him a cheerful smile. "And I'm not one for letting fish get away!"

When she had called for the help of the supernatural, she hadn't been expecting a damaged demon—hadn't even been aware that such a being _could_ exist. But damaged he was, for besides his laconic morose nature, his solemn haunted dull red eyes, and the perpetual rain cloud over his head, he had no official contract to offer her. He could never truly be her demon and therefore, was not bound by her word. Nevertheless, one didn't throw out a dog simply because it was missing a hypothetical limb—all she needed was its bite and Sebastian could certainly bite.

Sebastian turned to her, surprised. Her selfless eyes bore into him and for the third time, the demon wondered how a human like her could have fallen so low as to call on _his_ kind for help. "I must disagree. I have not fulfilled my end of the—"

They were still in public view, so the girl stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, lowering her voice to an intimate whisper. "Immortal beings or not, you'll never fully understand us." She looked into his eyes. "When we love someone, there isn't a single thing a human wouldn't do. And that goes for everything we hold dear and treasure. Now call me naïve, but I think if demons could let loose a little every now and then…they'd realize the same thing—of course it probably wouldn't ever be out of love, but whatever you guys feel—you're wholly entitled to it. And being the kind person I am, I want to help; everyone deserves their own form of happiness, or whatever it is you call it. I love my family, I wouldn't hurt another soul. Sure I'll never get married, I'll never be able to have kids," she looked down, "but I've achieved my goal. So don't question me. It's an order. We're through."

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><p>She was quite the sweet girl. Prancing throughout the house, hugging her parents and all her siblings and making them laugh—they weren't aware of the heinous crime their daughter had committed and it was apparent that they'd never find out. By having entirely too much love for them, she was indeed heartless and overzealously sadistic—as the poor bastards she tortured to death found out. She bade her little sister goodnight and made her promise to never forget her, and shouted to the rest of the family that she'd be back late; a celebratory date with her boyfriend was in order.<p>

"Ok, Sebastian. I'm ready when you are," she smiled, taking his arm and turning back to wave at her somber sister. "I only have two more requests—one that you must follow and one that I would greatly appreciate." He opened the car door for her.

"I want my death to have been in the past—let me be a sweet, faded, painless memory." She sighed, closing her eyes against the brilliant orange of the setting sun. "And please, before you go eating any other souls…if you could finish off the other two. I really don't want them thinking that I've forgotten about them…it'd be so cruel of me."

"Even after you are gone, I shall care out your last orders with care. You needn't worry." He pulled into the park parking lot. "I do not lie."

"I know. Thanks for being awesome. You don't make a bad boyfriend either." She leaned over the glove compartment as the car stopped and grabbed his arm. Sebastian glanced down at her, catching her demure smile. "Let's have one last picnic," she concluded. "Your eyes look so pretty when they sparkle. I mean, the only time they ever sparkled was today when you looked at the boy, but still... After me, they'll be doing that a lot more, right?"

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><p>He had always known he was different. From the first cognitive thoughts, he knew something was amiss; there had been a mistake in his creation. He hadn't been as attached to his parents as other toddlers his age had been; he never ran to Mommy, never tried to be like Daddy. His blue eyes never shone with exuberant joy upon seeing them, but rather with the contentment of familiarity—as if his parents were replacements he had come to accept. But besides those little quirks, he appeared to be a normal child in the beginning.<p>

The little boy cherished being read to with a fierce passion and his mother would endure a myriad of hours of sitting in the cushioned bay window with her small son nestled like a napping kitten against her side. She'd read fairytales, folk stories, nursery rhymes and when he was older and could handle bigger words, children's books like _Hansel and Gretel_ and _Alice in Wonderland_. When she had no more books, she'd make up stories and when that grew old, she'd sing lullabies and when the lullabies failed to soothe him, she'd reread all the little books and the boy would be content. It was the only time where he practically allowed her to cuddle him.

His father had always been proud of his only son and he took great joy in taking his family to church on Sundays. And because the young boy liked to receive compliments from his father, he always made sure to behave. His father being a scientist and having a firm anchor in genetic engineering ironically had no effect on his religious views, though he always made sure to keep his work separate from family life. For bonding, the two would spend quiet evenings crafting; he would fashion crosses of various sizes and the child used the wood scraps to build little houses for his soldiers.

At age eight, the boy's peculiar habits became increasingly more noticeable. Mirrors entranced him and his mother would find him staring into his reflection. At first, she passed it off as a silly thing until she came to realize that even if he was admiring himself, it was strange to do so for _hours_. It seemed to be his cerulean eyes that were captivating him; the longer he stared, the harder it was to snap him out of it. One day when she asked him about it, he appeared puzzled before replying, "They're old. They aren't really mine."

And then it fell apart.

He became more withdrawn and he acquired new mannerisms, a shorter temper and his speech pattern was apt to change. When he talked with an accent, his mother, who found it endearing, would smile and make nothing of it. But her heart ached terribly when her little boy no longer seemed to have an interest in being read to and his room became the preferred retreat for the evening instead of spending it with them. His already-low tolerance for physical contact vanished and after a frightful episode at church when the priest had grabbed his arm to lead him to the altar—and the terrible rage her husband exhibited when they had gotten home—she secretly took him to a pediatrician who referred them to a physician who explained haphephobia.

The boy had always known he was different, but he didn't know what it could mean and unidentified fears plagued the perplexed child. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he control the way he felt? His fed-up father had sensed the changes as well and being a devout Christian, was determined to figure out what possessed his son to act so oddly and extinguish it. By any extreme measures necessary.

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><p>"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" With sweaty hands tearing at the softest locks of the darkest navy, Cerul shot up in bed, choking forcefully as the air he tried to hastily suck in contained nothing but thick acrid smoke. He screamed again, covering his ears, forcing his shrill voice to go as high as a young boy's conceivably could, but it didn't make the smoke disappear and the blankets continued to smother him. And worse yet, no one could hear him. The heat of the blankets intensified and prior experience had him scrambling off the bed before the covers erupted into searing flames.<p>

Chest tightening, he ran across the burning carpet, flinging the door open, crying out as the door knob instantly blistered his palm. Being severely handicapped in one eye didn't slow him down as he tore through the mansion; he knew the layout by heart.

The crimson inferno was on his tail, chasing him down the corridor—fresh air fresh air, he _needed_ fresh air! He dodged the flaming painting before it fell and flung himself down the wooden steps before the weakened structure could collapse. His lungs were about to burst from the lack of adequate oxygen, his slender legs threatened to give out as he pushed them to the extreme. But he knew he would make it, not once yet had he not—and still, he was terrified witless every single time. He wrenched open the front door.

Trembling violently, he sunk to the dew-dampened grass and crawled pathetically over to the great oak tree, where he sat, shaking, back against bark, crisp air biting his flustered skin. In the burnt remnants of his tattered white nightshirt, he curled up on the crumbly earth, watching the engulfed mansion burn with weary eyes. He shivered, pressing his seared hand close to his mouth, closing his eyes as another shiver wracked his small frame. With deepened breaths, he let himself relax—safe outside where the air was clean and the strange fire was confined to the mansion.

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><p>He fidgeted in his chair, feeling extremely restless; he didn't actually want to succumb to the little movements his body made, but he was plain exhausted and his body twitched from muscle spasms as he tried to keep awake. The teacher, an older woman in her early sixties who tried too hard to be 'cool' and casual with her students, droned on happily about the caste systems in other countries. Her voice floated by unheard by Cerul as he tried not to focus on a certain uneasiness in the air. It was as if there was something prowling that the atmosphere wasn't equipped to handle; like an approaching cataclysmic thunderstorm on a clear blue sky. Which was odd because it was the same scene every day.<p>

Cerul sat at his desk, front row, farthest from the door, right next to the smudgy finger-printed window; the closer he was to outside, the better. A couple of poorly-disguised giggles arose from the back and after a few moments, a girl came shoving her way down the aisle, her hip accidently brushing against his elbow—he jolted away from the contact, tucking his arm protectively against his side.

His abrupt movement caused a disruption that had the whole class analyzing him with judgmental eyes. The girl flipped her hair over her shoulder, scoffing. "Way to overreact, weirdo," she muttered.

Cerul only glared at her retreating back and faced the window again, sinking into his chair. He watched the branches quiver as they acquired the weight of an animal, presumably a large bird.

The teacher cleared her throat. "Ok, eyes back up here—at least pretend you're paying attention."

The bell rang. Mrs. Hansen sighed. "Ok, never mind, wander away." She set the piece of chalk down. "You have an essay due in two weeks—no less than seven pages!" she reminded the students, all of them rushing to leave and not giving the slightest acknowledgement they heard her.

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><p>Cerul trudged down the sidewalk, his ridiculously heavy backpack straining his small shoulders. With the street on the right, he had his head slightly turned, left eye vaguely on the lookout for any car going too fast or swerving too close to the curb. He picked up his speed, remembering his mother had requested to see him. <em>Perhaps I can finally tell her about... <em>The nightmare in which he awoke in a burning mansion was no recent occurrence; to be exact, it first appeared when he was ten years old. For the most part, the nightmare stayed the same, but sometimes the weather that would greet him outside would be different, or he would hear agonized shrieks amidst the burning flames. For two years, he'd been having the same nightmare, though the repetition of it did nothing to dull the distressing fear he'd feel and lately, he'd been having the nightmare more and more often—so much that going to bed was a necessity he was beginning to dread. Other than the irrational fear, he recognized nothing of the dream, not the mansion, not the room he assumed was his, nor the voices that sometimes could be heard.

Nothing of it even remotely made sense: Cerul's family had never experienced a fire, he never experienced the death of a loved one and his house was the exact opposite of a mansion—it wasn't that they were poor, but with the way his father handled _his_ wealthy income, they might as well have been.

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><p>Her blue eyes were pained, love-stained. She smiled, in the hopes of inducing one from her son. "Smile for Mama?" she pleaded, her careful, nurturing fingers wrapping around his slender wrist, beckoning with a gentle pull. "It's been so long since I've seen one." She sensed his hesitance as her other hand grasped the fabric of his blue sweater, tugging downwards. The boy obliged reluctantly, immediately being pulled onto her lap, resisting as she tried to cradle him against her chest. There was a thump at the paneled window.<p>

Hiding her hurt at the rejection, she smoothed down the blue material. "How was school?" she cooed lovingly. He remained sullen, sitting uncomfortably on her lap, staring at the tiled floor. The room reeked faintly of lemony disinfectant. _She's at it again._ She rubbed his shoulder lightly, touching the side of his chin next to his cheek, giving a motherly smile when he still reacted by slightly opening his mouth, though he struggled with the natural temptation to turn his head. She cradled his face, making him look at her, the intensity of the tranquil blue of his eye calming her nerves. "My handsome _Cerulean_, my sweet baby-faced Cerul."

_Do you honestly think lavishing me with affection will make me cling to you? _Cerul looked at his mother, studying the signs of stress and worry that were etching her young face. _Or perhaps it's remorse…_ He felt pressure on his eye patch and he moved back until he could see her hand clearly. He didn't like not knowing when she was going to touch him. "Sorry," she said, tapping his cheek softly with her index finger. He stiffened when he recognized the guilt swarming in her eyes. "How is it?" She tried to pull off the patch and he quickly snatched her hand before she could lift it up. "Maybe it'll get better if you use it more often," she suggested.

"It will _never_ get better," he said briskly.

"Cerul—"

"All it does is gives me a headache." He was glaring at her now.

She noted the way he still pronounced certain words and ignored them, caressing his cheek, hoping to erase his sudden anger. _My curious child._ "Ok sweetheart." She worried about him, she could tell he was in pain, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get him to open up. He needed someone to trust again and unfortunately, she wasn't in the position to be there for him constantly. "Do you want me to tell you a story?" She tried once more to pull him against her bosom and he pulled away like a colt refusing to be dragged by a halter.

"Stop it mother!"

The thump against the glass was louder.

She froze, fearful that he'd get up and leave, but much to her saddened heart's relief, he stayed if not a little more rigidly. It had taken years of persistence and patience to get to the point where she was now with him; while not even blue moons assured a hug on his part, he at least accepted her touch—most of the time. He glowered, gaze intensely focused on the unwelcoming tiles. The sunshine streaming in through the window begged to lighten their spirits.

"If I want to be held, I will be the one to initiate it."

She nodded, placing her hand on his back, rubbing a continuous circle. "Do you have any homework? Why don't you get it out and I'll help you with it?" Her son said nothing and she pressed her lips together, deciding to go for a more authoritative approach. "Cerul, look at me."

Picking up on the change of tone, he turned only to have her grab his chin. He didn't pull back, though his eyes flickered. "Is there anything you want to tell me? Is anything bothering you? Now is the time to say it."

_Because you say so?_ He looked down. "Mother, what could you possibly do?" Her response was a hum; the throaty noise washing over him, lulling his eyelids to droop. A careful stroke to his cheek.

"Cerul, as your mother it hurts me to say this, but there isn't much I can do for you—all I can give is advice and pray that you take it." There was a gentle shift as the boy slumped forward, a hand propped against her shoulder. "What's happened is unfortunately irreversible and life is too short to just sit about and contemplate the methods of revenge."

A shadowy stirring tickled the back of his mind and he swallowed the faint uneasiness of familiarity.

She leaned her head back, long dark hair slipping back over her shoulder. "Besides, it always finds a way to turn around and end you..." _Like it has me…_ "You haven't been sleeping well, have you sweetheart?" She smiled warmly as his eye fluttered open.

_But it wasn't your fault…_ "Play cards with me," he rewarded suddenly. He prepared himself to scoot off her lap, but as soon as his feet touched the ground, he was fiercely pulled back in a desperate embrace.

"Please don't go, don't go, it's been so long since I've—" she was interrupted by a nasally beeping alarm. The visit was over. An apologetic smile traced her lips and she reluctantly released him.

The high security door slid open harshly, destroying any connection between them and though he never showed it, the soothing effect he sometimes allowed his mother to have on him evaporated.

Cerul slid off her lap, turning around to stare at her. The two prison guards entered the visiting room, rudely hollering that their time was up due to the violations against physical contact. "My little prince," she smiled. "Would you give your dear mother a hug?" Her eyes stung when a slight scowl emerged. She urged herself to not take it personally. "Maybe next—"

He stepped forward, turning his head away, encircling her shoulders, hands resting feather-light on her shoulder blades. Containing no intimacy of any sort, the gesture met the basic minimum required to be called a hug. But his mother barely noticed—all she saw was the effort her son put forth. He pulled away. "Be good," she whispered softly, holding back tears, grasping his hand one last time. "Mama loves you. So much." She continued to smile tenderly even though Cerul's face was emotionally blank.

The guard clapped his hands, shooing the boy in front of him. "Alright alright, time's up. C'mon kid, I'll escort you to the entrance."

She caught Cerul's glance before he left the room; her son's blue eye calmed her nerves and with her free hands, she blew him a kiss as another guard unlocked the handcuffs that had chained her ankles to the metal chair. _May there be a next time_.

"You should know better, when you hear that knock against the panel, it's time to quit," the warden chastised. "These physical violations won't look good. Not on your record."

She held her head proudly. "I haven't done anything wrong. He's my son and I'm free to hold him."

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><p>He felt no need to think about it, nor a need to talk about it—not that he had anyone to talk about it to. His mother was in jail and it was most likely that she would die there. Cerul trudged the long way back home to the half-empty, lonely and dark duplex.<p>

Instead of entering through the front door, he made his way to the back. Long ago he decided that families entered through the front and ghosts, criminals and forgotten ones through the back.

The tiny court area, which had various stone tiles either missing, cracked or overturned, was sheltered with a garden of overgrown shrubbery, weeds and a mass of flowers—Queen Anne's Lace, foxglove, and white roses—lay rotten on their deathbed. Ironically, a few Bleeding Hearts, stunted and sickly, managed to grow feebly, their dull heart-shaped petals drooping in sad clumps to the dirt; a perfumed stench permeating the air like gradually baked death with a sweetened glaze. A partially-hidden granite birdbath, in which no sane bird dared to bath in, stood amongst the choking hypericum bushes.

Cerul turned the lock, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up before he slipped inside. For a family, the place bordered on being too small, but for one—and a small one at that—it was much too large. Thick burgundy curtains, embroidered with rose heads, allowed only the most determined rays of sunlight to peek through, illuminating the scores of dust speckles dancing idly above the dark couch and fringed rug; the matching recliner and disused rosary-decorated fireplace were left in hazy shadows.

On the left, equally somber, dismal and dusty, the bay window and breakfast nook, once a place to relax and snuggle amidst large throw cushions, were shrouded in suffocating darkness. Glided crosses hung on the sun-bleached Victorian wallpaper. In the back, was the kitchen, hidden behind an archway. Behind the stairs, the front door was located, along with an abandoned dining room and coat closet.

Oppressed by the static silence that seemed to seep from the walls and ooze from the wooden floors, the boy quickly made his way up the stairs to his room, locking the door.

Spacious in size and sparsely decorated, his room seemed rather uninviting—yet to Cerul, it was his safe haven with its beige walls and sand-colored carpet, the bed pushed off to the farthest corner from the door on the left side, while a glass desk occupied the right. A large frameless mirror hung on the wall and across the mirror was the wooden-slated closet door.

Pursing his lips before pulling the lower one in to bite it, a habit that often left him pouting with a slightly swollen lower lip, Cerul unzipped his backpack, untangling black earbuds from crinkled papers, tugging on the cord before the green iPod emerged. Moving quickly, he removed the cord, tossing it on the bed, taking his iPod to the desk, plugging it into his laptop, where he accessed the video recorded earlier that day. His teacher's voice could be heard in the background.

"_Ok, we're all big boys and girls, right? And I don't mean that in the physical way, so no need to whine to your counselor about feeling pressured. I can handle making sure you all have the audio, but getting the moves_?" A brunette woman walked into the camera's view, waving in a couple of experienced students. "_Well darlings, watch and learn as much as you can. I'll go it over step-by-step in a couple days, but by then I expect you to be familiar with it_." She winked.

Cerul sighed, disinterest suddenly dulling his intentions. He closed the laptop and sunk to the floor, rubbing his forehead. Succumbing to lethargy, his shoulder soon met the soft carpet as did his head and there he laid. _What is the point? _He had no one to talk to, no one to offer quiet company; he was utterly alone and that aspect was always magnified after visiting his mother. _I won't visit her again. There is nothing to be gained from seeing her_. He stared at the wall trimming.

Quite a bit of his time was usually devoted to homework and studying, but no matter how many hours Cerul labored over his assignments, he just couldn't seem to get it by himself. He tried and he failed. Recalling lectures and reading notes only left him confused and with more questions. And at the moment, he didn't want to bother.

Cerul rolled onto his stomach, feeling his eyes grow heavy. The lack of adequate sleep was beginning to take advantage of his still body, paralyzing his arms and legs. _I can't fall asleep…not just yet…please._ What could he do to distract himself while using only minimal energy? The mirror popped into mind.

He sat criss-cross, his reflection staring back at him expectantly. He covered his eye patch; even with it on, he refused to open his eye. He could never handle the drastic, disconcerting way he saw things. But when everything began to morph out of focus, the blotch of black proved to be too distracting, so with hesitant fingers, he untied the patch, letting it fall to his lap.

He stared and stared until the boy he was staring at wasn't himself anymore. Disdainful mismatched eyes on a round pallid face, framed by midnight blue hair, a full-lipped mouth resting at a pout; forever a noble chip on his shoulder. Silence was persuasive and he felt himself drifting. Though the interruption of sound—from a large passerine bird to be exact—went by unregistered by the brain, the boy gave a sudden blink nonetheless, and in that moment, an eye shot open that was not blue. A sickly violet surrounding a dark fuchsia iris, an even darker shredded pupil dilating. The eye fascinated him as much as it sickened him, for there was no white. Unnatural and alien-looking.

The troubled boy fell victim to his own gaze, both eyes rolling up. He had no one check on him to make sure he was alright.

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><p><strong>So, what'd you think? First chapters are always the hardest, but I hope it was decent! Sebastian and a little baby-cuteness 3. Reviews are always adored and replied to ^-^<strong>


	2. Dark Crow

**Wow, thanks so much for the sweet reviews, favs and alerts! They made me quite happy, yes the did...comfort food for the soul. I wanted to upload this yesterday, but I was too worn out after work, so now I'm doing it now c:**

**I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

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><p>It was the second time and it would have to be the last. The demon couldn't afford to heed the beckoning cries or the little nine-month-old on his lap would never remember. And he would never regain his young master. But the happenings over a century ago prevented the demon from ignoring such a helpless frightened plea; his reasoning to be that if he could be there for the boy when he cried for him, perhaps he'd be able to <em>begin<em> to atone for his failure. However, with such a way of thinking, he had already failed again. While he was there this time, there had been plenty of times where the baby had cried himself sick.

It was a thunderstorm that had terrified the baby boy and the babysitter's screams at him to shut up were no less intimidating. But when a sudden figure appeared in the room, the boy seemed unfazed. Sitting in the rocking chair, the demon was more than content to let the boy play on his lap. The immortal had gotten used to the familiar pull of the soul within the young child and therefore, could resist it. He'd searched the room for anything hinting towards the boy's name, but besides the blue color scheme and lavish baby decorations, there was nothing.

A brilliant flash lit up the nursery and quiet mewls escaped the small child. Mouth scrunching around the red pacifier in anticipation, the teensy boy turned around and let himself face-plant onto the demon's chest. Chuckling, the immortal ran his hands down the soft little footed pajama-clad body, patting his bottom affectionately until the boy wiggled and sat back up. Clear blue eyes watched the window with an unsteady gaze.

"There is no more reason to worry. The storm is well on its way."

Weighing a handful of pounds, the little tyke was quite the comfortable weight and eager to show what he had been able to master, he began bouncing on the demon's lap in all his adorable chubbiness. Little did the demon know that this was a sort of lullaby game the boy's mother would play; she'd hold her son's hands while he bounced and after singing a certain verse, she'd spread her legs to allow him to fall through, only to catch him before he really fell. But the demon didn't have a clue, and he watched curiously until the little bouncing boy stopped, looking down, chewing his pacifier in what had to have been a sign of a baby's confusion.

The flashes were a lot weaker and if thunder happened to follow, it was no more than a quiet rumble. There wasn't a need for the demon to stay any longer. He moved the boy onto his shoulder and cautiously got up from the cushioned rocking chair. Not minding the movement, the small child began spitting happily, fascinated by the vibrations he could get by pressing his lips together.

"Now now, the rain will do a thorough job of getting me wet—there is no reason for you to help," the demon admonished gently, wiping the drool off the boy's chin fondly. He tugged the pacifier from the small hand, sticking it into an open mouth. Unable to resist, he leaned closer, rubbing his nose against the child's, and after hearing the cutest, most pleased little giggle, for a split second he quite forgot that kittens existed in the world. He lifted the baby up and set him down in the crib and when the tyke removed his pacifier, the demon could only assume it was some kind of trained reaction.

In that assumption he was correct—after placing him in the crib, the boy's mother would coax him into taking out his pacifier to wait for a kiss and after careful repetitions, the boy had it down fairly well. So now with one hand gripping the railing to help support his wobbly legs, he waited with an upturned face. But the demon didn't know what was expected of him and because the child's attention span wasn't very long, he began reaching outward, babbling baby nonsense.

"Some other time we'll play some more," the immortal promised, grabbing the baby and laying him on his back. "Now it is time to sleep." The quick child was up again before he could withdraw his hands from the crib. "Never satisfied, are you?" With a sigh, he cradled the small face, acknowledging the perfect blue eyes-for belonging to someone so young, they were peculiarly intense. "Unfortunately, I cannot take on such a tiny master at the moment. But there will come a day where you will be mine." He paused, looking to the door and behind it, the babysitter groaned when she heard the first wail.

And even though the child cried, it'd be a rather long time before the demon would ever come back.

* * *

><p>During the three days after visiting his mother in jail, was when he really began to suspect something was keeping their vigil on him constantly and worse yet, it seemed to have the same effect on him as if he'd been staring in a mirror with both eyes open. Besides the nauseating stupor he'd sometimes fall into, it brought along thoughts he wasn't sure he'd normally have and minor hallucinations that seemed almost memory-like.<p>

A boom of thunder rumbled nonthreateningly in the distance—the generous sun nor the blue sky paid it any attention and the little birds still flitted about, visiting kin in neighboring trees, while the squirrels continued to nimbly scale the branches, performing acrobatic feats in order to impress one another. Cerul also paid it no mind, tucked away in an alcove, hidden by a shelf where library encyclopedias gathered dust. Of course that wasn't to say he paid much attention to anything else happening around him. Fatigued from the lack of sleep and yet restless all the same, he was perturbed; there had been an alteration in his nightmare—the haunting presence had been able to follow him there._ Why would a bird have been waiting for me? _

And even more perplexing, he _still_ felt the presence even more strongly so, though perhaps not exactly waiting for him, but watching him. Minus the hostility, it was consistent with the stealth stalking of a predatory cat. Furthermore, it held a lingering melancholy to it, which intrigued the boy because it seemed to be directed at _him_. He certainly didn't need a stray cat feeling sorry for him. Or a bird for that matter. Cerul absentmindedly thumbed the pages of the book on his lap.

"Psst! Cerul, what're you doing back here?" A girl with a short black bob squirmed her way through the small opening created by the shelf and the wall. "Hey!" she continued to whisper loudly.

Cerul held back a sigh, lifting his head from his palm. "I find it hard to believe you came all the way here to ask me what I was doing." He looked down on his lap, flipping a page. There were a lot of black birds in the world.

A slight blush colored her cheeks. "Ok so umm, I didn't really catch all of Mr. Berke's instructions; I know we're supposed to be writing a paper of some sort."

"Well then, you probably should have been paying attention."

Feeling stupid, the girl tried to hide her embarrassment by smiling. Her friends had told her it was useless to ask him for any help, much less try and start a conversation with him. But no one ever talked to him; maybe all he needed was a chance. She focused on the brown straps of her heeled sandals.

"What makes you think I did?" Cerul turned another page before looking up. She looked confused before giggling nervously.

"Oh well, you went back here with such a purpose before he even finished talking, so I thought you already knew the assignment." She glanced at the thick book he was skimming through. "Are you studying birds?"

The nightmare hadn't even started right. His vision had been hazy; he could barely tell the flames and glowing walls apart and the horrified screams had been replaced by an adamant caw, urging him to ignore the subtle differences and to just keep going. When he'd finally wrenched the front door open, completely beside himself in fear, the shadowy bird had been waiting for him, circling him; silken sable feathers from iridescent wings brushing against his shoulders. "No," he answered. He closed the book.

* * *

><p>The navy-haired boy rubbed his eye, trying to shield it from the sun and his ears from Evanie, the girl chattering next to him. He tried ignoring her, but it was apparent she didn't need his attentiveness to hold a conversation; he then tried to be a bit more engaging, but she only found more stuff to ramble about. "So I was totally waiting for my friend when this stupid eighth grader came barging through the hall demanding—"<p>

"Class ended, and you're still following me. Haven't you got your own class to go to?"

Evanie giggled. "So Leah was right, you do talk with an accent sometimes. But it's ok, I have art next," she breezed. "I can be late."

Cerul blanched, trying to maintain a safe distance from her; she tended to use her hands when she spoke and more than once, she'd tried to grab his arm. _I have tried to be polite and I can't help it if I have to be so blunt with her. _"Evanie," he said firmly. "I have tried numerous times to get you to shut up. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to listen to you. So please," he said, softening his voice when she looked ready to shed a few tears. "Leave me alone." He backed away from her before turning around and heading off.

_You still have a ways to go with tact. _The demon took off, in search of the next spot which would give him a window view of the boy's next class. He'd been trailing him for a couple of days now, so he knew exactly where his classes were.

* * *

><p>"It's as I thought, you're not stupid." She had kept him after class to lecture him privately a bit and the oral quiz she gave him, he passed almost effortlessly. The teacher sighed, raking her hair back. "So as to why you continue fail my tests is beyond me." She waited for a response.<p>

Cerul only looked at her, waiting calmly to be dismissed.

"Do you want to fail? You never even pay attention during class."

"You never pay any attention to me," he replied quietly, tugging at the wire spiral on his notebook. Another muted rumble of thunder broke out.

Her mouth dropped open. "Cerulean, I have 120 students to keep track of—I'm sorry, this isn't elementary school where a teacher has maybe only 20 kids to teach throughout the year and the kids all become teachers' pets. If you want to learn, if you need to spend time after school with a teacher, you need to be proactive about it. Understand?" She leaned back in her chair, staring at him. How dare the student try and pin his failure on her because she never paid attention to him. "I get paid regardless of whether you pass or not," she muttered. "So it's really not my problem."

Cerul was so used to it, he didn't even bother feeling a bit hurt; he could barely concentrate on her words. The late bell rang. He glanced at the door. "Ms. Olito—"

"Yeah yeah, I'll write you a pass. Maybe we need to schedule a conference with your parents. If this goes the same for your other classes, you won't make it to seventh grade."

* * *

><p>It looked like gym class and the demon was closer than he normally was. Sebastian let a sly smile ghost his lips, which parted the slightest as he watched the interactions between the boy and his classmates. The little brat was getting irritated, attempting to avoid their advances by shooing them off and resorting to disgraceful retorts. A teacher had gotten involved and she made the mistake of forcefully grabbing his arm, no doubt chastising him for his unacceptable behavior. In return, she was soundly slapped—even the boy looked shocked at his own actions, though his brow furrowed in resentment and curdling anger as the teacher, now livid herself, started to drag him from the gym. Indignation had him shouting to be let go, beating her arm, trying desperately to pry her fingers off.<p>

"Get your hands off!" he growled, his voice rising in frantic pitch. He pulled away, unable to hold back a cry of pain when the instructor yanked him forward, straining his arm. "Get your hands off—" he twisted towards the window, pausing as if he wanted to add something else, as if there _would_ be something else he'd normally add, but after a brief moment of silence he went back to screaming at the teacher to let go of him.

His curiosity peaked, Sebastian nimbly leapt from the tree. Could it be that the demon's presence was beginning to have an effect on the boy? _It would seem that pause had been intended for my name. _

His heart was still pounding even as he pulled his backpack from the locker. Hauled to the principal's office, he had been practically suspended on the spot, though after pictures were taken of red marks and bruises, there came the decision of how long a suspension of this degree would be. Initially it had been a week until the nurse pointed out the marks the teacher had left on the 'poor child' and that he was probably fighting in self-defense. So a week seemed too harsh. But slapping a female teacher deserved more than three days. In the end, after being unable to reach Cerul's father, administration decided to send him home early, resolving to have an answer the next day.

"How ridiculous," the young boy muttered. "How utterly stupid." He knew it was wrong of him to slap a teacher, but it had been such an impulsive reaction. _She had no right grab me like that, especially after I told her to let go! And those kids… _But what irritated him even more were the bumbling fools tasked with running the school. So flustered about the potential child abuse aspect of the situation—never mind the fact that Cerul never mentioned anything—they didn't know how to set about punishing him.

His mouth turned down in a miserable pout as he touched the cool glass of the entrance door. The sky had been slathered with thick impenetrable storm clouds and from them, cascaded a torrential downpour. Cerul bit his lower lip, digging for the rarely-used cell phone in his bag. He pushed open the door, the loud sound of crashing rain making it hard to hear the ringing. He waited a little longer, but it didn't matter because his father didn't pick up. _Just great… _

Sighing, he grabbed the straps of his backpack in an effort to alleviate the tension they were causing on his shoulders and stepped out into the rain. Drenched in a matter of mere seconds, his sodden sweater clung to his small frame, the white shirt he wore underneath it sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

He could barely see, his blue eye in a perpetual squint from the harsh, needle-like rain. Water began to flood over the curb from the street and the child continued to slosh down the sidewalk. A misty haze appeared to be forming along the ground; the rain fell with such a force, it almost seemed to ricochet back up into the air.

"_Just look at it," the boy said, his voice quiet and lifeless. His back was turned, a gloved hand pressed against the inside of a glass shop window._

Cerul stopped, clutching his forehead. He stumbled to the side, grimacing.

"_I agree," answered a smooth voice from behind. "It would seem our only option would be to wait it out here."_

_ "I suppose you're right." The boy turned around, face hidden by the shadow cast onto it by a top hat. He lifted his chin, allowing himself to be undressed of the overcoat he was wearing._

His foot suddenly plunged into ankle-deep water and his weight came crashing down on rough concrete; Cerul gasped, coughing as muddy water splashed up into his face. Wiping his eye with a shivering hand, he cursed his luck and tried to prop himself up on a tingling elbow.

"_I'm sorry; I haven't been able to locate a single towel in this place." _

_Chills shuddered through him, but he kept his composure. He took a step away from the window, a step closer to the darkness behind him. "I'm sure you can find another way to warm me, can't you?"_

"_Of course…permit me to…"_

_Hands pulling him from the side turned him around, gently hoisting him onto the man's lap. Wordlessly, the boy leaned back, staring emptily out the window as fingers brushed away his wet hair. He pulled up his leg, resting his foot between the man's leg and armrest. _

Burning white light coaxed Cerul to tear his gaze away from the dark figure on the sidewalk and to stare instead, into the headlights of the approaching car. Eyes widened, pupils constricting in fear; every limb froze, bracing for impact.

_"Even should I fail…"_

* * *

><p><em> But what if the life that is lost is not yours, but mine?<em>

* * *

><p>When the face finally came into focus, it was the eyes he noticed first. Fathomless eyes with glowing russet irises, framed by the darkest lashes, marked by the blackest pupils. The boy blinked, taking in a hitching breath of air. Gentle fingertips touched his cheek, lightly brushing away droplets of muddy water.<p>

The demon, who had to keep their past a secret, withdrew his touch at the sight of tears. The poor boy was drenched from head to toe. Dark hair plastered around his pale face, from beneath the eye patch slid a few tears, the blue eye wide and still, trembling lips—he arched his back, taking in another uneven breath. The child carefully moved each leg before giving his arms a try and the demon smiled.

"Not hurt are you?" he asked calmingly.

_I didn't get hit…this man saved me._ Cerul closed his eyes, unable to stop the tears. The voice…it sounded so—why was it so comforting? And why was he crying? Trying to find a reason, he blamed it on the stresses of the day; everything from the nagging teachers, the bullying, the conflict with the gym teacher—even Evanie's needless interactions with him. Another shaky exhale left him and the breath he drew in was considerably smaller.

The demon narrowed his eyes, quickly recognizing the symptoms. _Stay calm, young Master._ Cradling the boy's head, he held him closer, snaking his other arm beneath his legs. He resisted the strong urge to press the boy against him—it would be a gesture that would only alarm the child who had forgotten him. "Can you tell me your name?"

A few moments passed. "Cerulean," was the quiet, pensive answer.

The demon's mouth twitched into a satisfied smile. "Cerul." He felt the boy's quickening heartbeat. _Cerul is to blue as Ciel is to sky… Master, what a strong soul, a persuasive aura. _

"Yes." He bit his lower lip, swallowing nervously. This man wasn't a hallucination. "Tell me yours."

For this, he looked down into Cerul's eyes. "Sebastian."

* * *

><p>He turned the heat down on the stove and on a whim, added a spoonful of cinnamon to the warming milk. Aware of the scrutiny he was under, he glanced over his shoulder, spotting the boy standing in the archway. He was dressed in a thin, black sweater, which had slipped off one shoulder and dark sweat pants a size too big for him—much to the demon's dismay, the child wasn't wearing any socks. <em>He's sure to catch a cold. <em>His hair was still a damp mess and on his face he wore an expression of almost disinterested puzzlement.

"There is a microwave on the counter," Cerul pointed out. It wasn't exactly hard to miss.

Sebastian swallowed his sentence before the word 'master' could escape. He stirred the milk. "If you take the time to do something, should you not also take the time to do it properly?"

"Sometimes there isn't time to do something properly," Cerul said, his voice quiet and apathetic.

"There is always the time, if one is willing to sacrifice for it." _And I would sacrifice it all had I known… _He removed the small pot, turning the stove off. He opened a cabinet, finding knocked over spices and little bags of flour and sugar. He pulled out a jar of honey before resuming his quick search for a cup.

The sweetened milk was cooling off on the breakfast table and Cerulean pulled himself onto a chair; he suddenly grew suspicious when the raven-haired male approached him, kneeling down before him. "Please allow me to dry your hair, it should take but a minute." The demon draped a towel over the boy's head, gently tousling his hair. The child said nothing, his face blank.

Having had enough, Cerul leaned back, shaking off the towel. "I don't trust you," he decided. Never before had he felt so strongly about someone; there was something about this person that his subconscious had reacted to. And what it meant, he didn't like. He stared at the milk before taking a tentative sip; he masked his pleasure at how unexpectedly soothingly delicious it was.

Sebastian nodded, slowly folding the towel. "Understandable. We've only just met."

The blue-eyed boy gave his head a small shake. "No, that's not it." He pushed the cup away. "You...saved my life, and for that I'll be eternally grateful and in your debt; however… To be quite honest, I don't feel safe around you."

The last six words made a simple, but clear sentence and they embedded the demon's already self-mutilated bleeding heart like powdered glass. What made it worse—in Sebastian's mind, Cerul had every right to feel that way. The demon had broken his promise, his vow; Ciel's dependent trust in him had been undoubtedly shattered the moment his fragile life had. "I shall keep my distance," he offered.

Reassured, Cerul leaned back in chair, pushing his hands against the table. "Alright then," he listened to the heavy downpour, "unfortunately, there isn't a guest bedroom, but you're more than welcome to stay here for the night. I think the couch pulls out." Despite being early evening, he decided to head to bed; the stormy weather and stressing day gave him excuse enough. Homework could wait. It certainly wouldn't go anywhere.

Sebastian gave a small appreciative smile. "Thank you."

Thunder crackled sharply as Cerul slipped from the chair, leaving the barely sipped milk on the table.

* * *

><p>Red eyes glowing dimly, he knelt beside the bed, leaning over to cradle the sleeping child's face. There was no room for doubt; Cerul was definitely his master reincarnated—at least in physical appearances; he didn't yet know by how far the two personalities differed. It wasn't a smile, but a light-hearted grimace—the day couldn't have ended any better. His intention hadn't been to engage him so soon, but following him home became an obligation for the demon once the rain started. It was then he realized how strongly his presence affected Cerul; however, had he known his proximity would've made the boy stumble out into the street, he would've hovered protectively a mile away. He'd lost him once… The demon rubbed his scarred hand.<p>

Pristine white light lit up the room in a flash and a peal of thunder followed closely after. Sebastian tucked the boy in, brushing away warm, still slightly damp strands of hair. Their contract would be dormant until Cerul reawakened as Ciel and along with regaining all his past memory, recognized Sebastian as his butler and as his demon. And Sebastian could not help him; he could never mention his true identity, Ciel's or any direct memories. He could only hope that his presence would speed up the process. For then the chains would drop around the boy's soul.

Thunder boomed loudly, rattling the windows and Cerul gave a start in his sleep; Sebastian reached over and grabbed his hand. "I will only alarm you if you wake up." He smiled sadly. "Do you remember, Cerul? Eleven years and three months ago, I held you on a night like this."

Each boom faded with the threat that the next would be louder and the demon had no choice but to leave the room. Should Cerul awake, Sebastian simply didn't want to startle him anymore and that would certainly be the case if he awoke to find a stranger he'd just only met—one who unsettled him—sitting beside his bed. Holding his hand nonetheless.

* * *

><p><strong>Hm, so reading over it, personally to me it seemed a little rushed, but that could be because I like long chapters, even though I'm aiming for short and sweet chapters for this story. I dunno, but I hope you liked it (after work, I'll go over it again and add some more here and there)! I couldn't resist Sebastian and baby Cerul, it's just too endearing. and I've got special ties to that lullaby game (which was Hoppe Hoppe Reiter for any other Germans out there) Ohhh, don't forget to review! But it's ok, no one's forcing you to ^-^<strong>


	3. Tu-tutor?

****Finally, a new chapter! Sorry for the ridiculously long dormant period, I was...busy publishing my first novel (the excitement is almost better than having a birthday). I can't guarantee timely updates, so just take them as they come c:****

* * *

><p>Curled up on his right side, Cerul opened a bleary eye and though he'd woken, he determined with sleepy conviction that he hadn't stopped dreaming. Pushing aside the comforter, there were no burning blankets to greet him and his room was filled with the gentle luminosity of sunlight rather than the harsh bright glare of red-orange flames. It wasn't so much the sunlight that gave away the dream, but where it was coming from—drifting in from an opened door.<p>

_"Cerul, sweetheart, time to get up for school."_

Nostalgia was as fragrant as the wafting smell of bacon and eggs and with the reminiscent, yet cautious desire to see who was in the kitchen, he slid from the bed. There was a soft thud as a pair of rolled-up white socks tumbled to the floor. He spared it a brief glance before mindlessly disregarding it and padded quietly out of his room.

He paused at the top of the stairs, crouching down to gain a better vantage point. Heavy curtains being held open by thick ruby ribbons, the living room was considerably brighter—each piece of furniture looked years younger and vibrant as if layers of dust had been removed. Craning his neck, even the crosses on the mantel were glimmering. His stomach twisted uncomfortably and Cerul hugged his knees, resting his chin on top of them, closing the one eye that wasn't already shut. _It's only a dream. _ There was a sound of rushing water as the faucet turned on—a screaming sizzle of a hot pan. _Mama? _Reaching to take a hold of the wooden banister, Cerul pulled himself up, taking ginger steps down as to not be heard.

Upon seeing the breakfast nook, the boy sucked in his lower lip, still teetering on the bottom stair. Bathed in softening sunshine, the golden embroidery on the peach pillows glittered and he remembered running his fingers over the swirly leaf embellishments when he was younger.

"_I lived off rats and toads and I starved for you—"_

_He crinkled his nose, rocking back against her. "Ew!" he laughed. "Don't live on rats, Mama—they're too small!"_

_She pulled him away from her side and onto her lap, smiling down at him, tickling him under the chin. "And every single step of the way of pain, every single night and day, I searched for you... Through sandstorms and hazy dawns, I reached for you," she sang, rubbing his tummy. Cerulean squirmed out of her hold, crawling behind her to press his face against the sun-warmed glass, staring at the colorful flowers. _

"_Could you reach me? Could you?" he asked, turning back to cling to her shoulder, eyes solemn with curiosity. "Read me a story."_

"_Hmm, you're all over the place today, aren't you?" his mother cooed. She grabbed him, plopping the five-year-old against a large throw cushion. _

"_I'm right here!"_

But never would he smile so eagerly again, or be so trusting in his warm affections. One couldn't regain blissful ignorance, nor could one truly ever regain such innocence. Taking a deep breath, he trailed his hand along the wall, following the curve that would lead into the kitchen.

The boy didn't look at him as he set the plates down. As if he'd been expecting someone else, Cerul had seemed slightly disturbed to find him in the kitchen and the wistfulness that had appeared, quickly stamped out and swept away by cool indifference.

"You do recall the events of last night, don't you?" Sebastian tried again, giving the pancake-laden plate a little helpful push towards the boy's direction. It continued to go unacknowledged. He straightened up and stepped back.

Cerul gave the elegantly-arranged table a bland once-over before turning around in his chair to pointedly stare at everything else. "Yes, I distinctly remember allowing you to stay the night, and I thought I had made myself clear when I explicitly told you I do _not_ trust you and yet here you are, having the audacity to clean my house and cook me breakfast as if I'd hired some house servant."

Taken aback, Sebastian lowered his gaze and bowed. Had he allowed himself to believe in a glimmer of hope, he would've felt disheartened. "Forgive me—"

"Stop it," was the quiet command. "Just stop it." Sebastian looked up to find the boy shaking his head, a hand pressed against his forehead. "As rude as it sounds, you're giving me a splitting headache."

Until then, the demon wasn't quite sure what would happen if he suggested certain memories by simulating them—there was no guide on how to regain a reincarnated master, nor did he personally know of any demons who'd been in the same situation. All he knew by instinct were the rules and what he could tell from the boy's pained face, they certainly didn't bend much. _Forgive me young master, I only wanted to gather how bound I was to play fair._

It wasn't in his nature to be blatantly discourteous, and yet with a determined and insolent gesture Cerul promptly pushed back the pale yellow plate, causing the raven-haired stranger to utter "Mast—" before breaking off suddenly. Eyebrows raised, the boy gave him a derisive look that even with a slightly askew eye-patch and bed hair, cut sharply.

"Mast?" he pressed when the man showed no signs of finishing the word.

Upon seeing younger's heated, challenging glare, Sebastian lowered his eyes to the floor. "Mastering one's strength requires energy provided by food. You should eat," he finished quietly, his voice oddly weighed down—something that the boy completely failed to notice.

"Oh, so you're calling me weak." Cerul swung his legs to the side and slid off the chair. "Well I'm getting ready for school. You are more than encouraged to leave now."

Had this been under different circumstances, the demon would've taken the boy's cold and caustic behavior in stride, for there was a time when the once-proud demon could react accordingly, smoothly in fact, or even when necessary, brush it from his shoulder. But such confidence had long been whittled away by venomous-fanged guilt and a torturously vivid memory. Besides, even _if_ the immortal had impossibly managed to remain mentally unscathed by the harrowing event involving the young master's horrific death and the several humiliating acts that rendered him incapable of following the pitiful desperate plea of the young master he'd grown so fond of…the superb, slightly sadistic, ever watchful butler he had once fancied himself of being was a persona he could no longer return to. Not until the boy decided to willingly embrace the fragments of the old soul his body housed.

However, he still took the boy's actions with a grain of salt. Babies were not fond of strangers, yet twice Cerul had allowed himself to be comforted by the demon's presence. _Years ago you begged me to stay…you asked not for your father, nor for the mother who birthed you…but for this dark demon. That stands for something, does it not?_ He glanced at the cold breakfast. "What a shameful waste," he murmured disapprovingly, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>It had happened enough times that Cerul could come to a semi-solid conclusion. Whoever Sebastian was, his speech, actions and even mere presence—it all triggered sickeningly familiar hallucinations. <em>Why should him apologizing make me dizzy? <em>But it wasn't mainly the hallucinations that made him queasy, it was the feeling that came them: the towering wave of naked vulnerability, as if he'd get swept away and somehow lose himself amidst its frothing currents. If the pain in his eye was anything to go by, being near Sebastian presented a paranormal reality. And one he admittedly was too fearful to acknowledge at the moment. It was borderline crazy. It had been scarring enough that his eye, albeit unwillingly, had been injected with a mutant form of his own DNA. And while nothing should've happened save for a possible slight infection, the results had his father crossing himself, quietly pleading with the Lord to protect and forgive his marked son.

_Despite the frightened wailing of his child and the shrieks of his wife, he knelt down, clasping his hands together. "Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus, I beg of thee…"_

He pulled a green hooded shirt over his head, sputtering as the fabric pressed too long against his nose and mouth. Straightening the eye patch, he hastily smoothed down his hair and slipped out of his room, padding the short distance to the bathroom.

Eye downcast, Cerul leaned over the sink, spitting out water, saliva and toothpaste. He splashed water over his face.

"_DO IT! DO IT! ASK HER TO TAKE IT AWAY!" _

_Cerulean tried to cower away, but his father, completely livid, grabbed his frail arm and yanked him forward, only jerking him again when he stumbled over the kneeler in the pew. In the aisle of the empty church, his father tossed him down in front of the altar. The boy cried out, disorientated and confused as to what his father wanted of him. After being shaken and forced harshly onto his knees, he grabbed his head and tried to quiet his whimpering. "Mary, Mother of Forgiveness…pray that the Lord will remove from me the sting of painful memories as He healed your memories of me in my sinfulness," he cried obediently. Fearfully, he looked up; his father still expectant. _

"_Go on," he commanded. _

_The ten-year-old looked down and covered his bad eye, tears soaking into the red carpet. What else was he supposed to say?_

"Nothing but trouble," he muttered, glaring at his reflection. He turned off the light and after snatching his backpack, decided his fate. He couldn't be sure that Sebastian wasn't like him—someone who had a past that seemed to go back further than their life; his warm wine red eyes unquestionably told of such a story, saddened to a depth where they appeared hauntingly hollow. And Cerul knew; eyes didn't lie.

* * *

><p>"My father wouldn't approve of this."<p>

Cerulean was staring blandly at him; his statement hanging open-ended in the air. There were many instances, some past, a few ongoing and surely a ton more to follow in the future that a father wouldn't approve of, such as: having his child brought home by a stranger when said stranger was the primary reason the child almost got by a car, having his sleeping son be touched and softly spoken to by a man he had not met, having his house cleaned and rooted through by someone who just might've looked into any personal items/documents lying or hidden about, or it could be the most obvious—the fact that his son was getting into someone's car…and perhaps the indefinite time the two would spend together. But because asking for specification would have a chance at failing, Sebastian just opened the passenger door to the dark lapis Lexus LFA, and responded equally ambiguous. "I presume that's why you're allowing this?"

"Solely to spite him? No…" Setting his backpack down between his legs, Cerul glanced around the sleekly modern interior, nibbling on his lower lip. _What does this guy do? _The door closed. He leaned back, waiting until Sebastian started the engine. "So why do you have an appointment at my school? We aren't getting any new teachers and I hardly believe you're applying for the janitor opening." The living room came to mind and he scowled. "Though maybe you are."

While cars were considerably easier to maintain, Sebastian would always have a special place in his heart for horse-drawn carriages. Not because he was particularly fond of the mode of transportation, but of the time period they represented. "I have a meeting with the principal at 10:30."

Cerul didn't bother pointing out that his question hadn't been answered. Not opposed to silence and wondering just where exactly he'd tripped over the curb, his eyes traveled to the window, watching the sidewalk go by. It was nigh impossible since everything looked the same, there was even still water sloshing over the concrete. He closed his eye. Where would he be now if the car had hit him? _Would I vanish? Or would I have gotten swept away?_

* * *

><p>Despite the gray gloomy overcast, the students down in the courtyard continued to skip and saunter to their next destination in their formation of two loose lines. Their excited and animated chatter could be heard from behind the third-story classroom window and everyone but Cerul seemed too focused on the teacher's lecture to notice. Cheek in hand, he continued to watch through the window as raindrops started to dot the glass; a rush of panic in the girls' line as they squealed and surged forward, hands covering their heads. He didn't notice the little boy playing on the ground until the courtyard had cleared again, his mind ignorant of the detail that the boy hadn't been there before.<p>

Dressed in a sailor suit and his back to the window, the dark-haired child ran a few steps back and forth, transporting little cars from one location to the next. The rain didn't seem to bother him at all, an indistinct giggle echoing along the stone walls. _Doesn't he know he can't play there? _As if heeding his thoughts, another figure entered the courtyard, though Cerul could only see the top of the woman's black parasol, in spite of the rain, and part of her long dark dress. Erratically slow, her movements seemed disconcertingly choppy as if relayed from an antique projector. She approached the boy and as she bent down, a braid of blonde fell into view. A pale hand in black lace alighted on the child's side and he turned his head to look up at her.

"Cerulean…Cerulean, are you ok, hon?"

Standing up, in a grace of monochromatic distortion, she continued on her way; the little boy nowhere in sight.

"Do you need to go see the nurse instead?"

"Don't touch him, miss! He's a weirdo, he totally freaks out."

"Oh, don't over-exaggerate—all he does is scoot away an' give you a strange look."

"Yeah right! Did you hear what he did to the gym teacher? I heard he high-fived her face so hard—"

"That's enough, class," the sub scolded half-heartedly. She leaned down again. "Cerulean, now's not the time to be sleeping. Besides, you've got a pink slip."

_Sleeping? Distracted perhaps, but… _The realization that he wasn't staring out the window hit him sharply and a clear blue eye fluttered open, his eyelid slightly hindered by the arm pressed against his face. _How did I…? _The young sub giggled at his startled reaction. "Good morning," she cooed, setting the note on his desk. He wasn't even facing the window anymore, how could he not remember turning away from it? Cerul gradually sat up, taking a peek at the rain-spattered glass; an empty cobble-stoned courtyard.

Seeing that she wouldn't be acknowledged, the sub immediately lost interest and cleared her throat. "Grab your assignment on your way out, got it?"

* * *

><p>Sebastian glanced over the names on the list, a slow half-smile forming as he neared the bottom.<p>

_Sarah Wittiker_

_Marie Hawkins_

_ Tyrone Dedrick_

_ Evanie Lynell_

_Cerulean Kynes-Kavanagh _

"They're all in need of dire help quite frankly," the superintendent sighed, pushing back thick red curls. "We just don't have enough people. It's so sad, most of them have given up anyway and they're so young."

"Given up? Well, that simply won't do."

* * *

><p>Cerul blinked, wondering if his hearing had begun to fail. "You're making me see a tutor? I thought I was sent here so you could suspend me, but you want somebody to <em>tutor<em> me? Do you think I'm stupid?" Right away, he sucked in his breath, realizing his grades didn't exactly protest the opposite. _But really, that should be the least of this school's problems._

"We've recently instituted a new program in order to help the ones who are falling behind." The old man gave a smile which he might've meant to be kind and understanding, but appeared downright condescending. Despite his wrinkly face and the sagging jowls, which hung disturbingly past his jawline, his teeth were small and plastic-white, perched behind bloodless, thin crusty lips. "You fall into that category."

Not sure whether to be insulted, repulsed or perhaps the justification for both was evident, Cerul leaned back as far as possible after receiving a whiff of putrid fish and old person spit. "Mr. Doloff, can we get reach a conclusion? Your breath is nauseating." He squirmed under the unamused gaze and crossed his legs, looking away. It wouldn't do well to remind him that maybe he _did_ need to be suspended. "Alright, so I need to be tutored. Can I go now?"

The door to the writing center opened, stepping out a man dressed in black, lanky hair neatly combed back, thin wire glasses reflecting the florescent lights. Cerul still had his head turned away, staring disbelievingly at the _other_ man who'd left the principal's office. "_You_? _You're_ a tutor?"

Sebastian gave an acknowledging nod, a girl in red dancing to his side. "Now Ms. Wittiker, where do we go from here?"

She giggled. "Oh please, call me Sarah."

Cerul's mouth dropped open incredulously and he finally looked at the stranger who was to be _his_ tutor; the man smiled, extending his hand. "Cla—"

His disgusted face comical in every aspect, Cerul uncrossed his legs and rapidly leaned away. "I don't _care_ what your name is—"

"Cerulean," Mr. Doloff warned, clearing his throat.

"Hey _you_." The boy stood and stalked over to Sebastian, pointing at his face. "You are _my_ tutor, understand?" he commanded sharply, throwing a look of revulsion at the tutor whose name he didn't learn. "Not _that_ creep over there." Cerul took a shaky breath, attempting to calm his riled nerves. _For the life of me, why is such a big deal? _It was coming in waves, spears of _emotion_ stabbing him to the core, agitating his very strain of reason, of sense, his grasp of _normal_ reality. "You—are—belong," he struggled, hunching over, pulling locks of hair—anything to combat the searing prickles within. "_To_," he gritted, tears of pain leaking from tightly shut eyes. "_Me_."

_"My young lord…"_

_ Such warmth, so tender…he cares…he cares…for…_

_ "…Let me help you."_

_ The shadow grew across the floor and when it reached his feet, he looked up; thin lips curved up into a pleasant smile, simmering eyes bearing down with inescapable force and yet, he didn't feel threatened—he welcomed the caged-like hostility that manifested in the atmosphere. It was a burning heat that banished even the chilliest depths of his tormented soul._

_ "Until the very end…" _

"Get OUT of my head! I don't know you! I don't know you! I don't know you!"

"Quick, someone call 911!"

Sarah shrieked, flapping her hands and scurrying back. "Oh my god, something's wrong with him—he's freaking out!"

To Sebastian, the rising panic was vile and abhorrent, for the fear being felt by those around him were not for the boy's well-being, but _of_ him; no one dared to approach the poor muttering boy kneeling and rocking on the floor. _There is nothing I can do. _His presence served as the ignition to Cerul's frenzied psyche, driving him from the reality he barely had a grip on in the first place to something dark and halfway forgotten—to a place where the unconscious dwelled and never explored.

"Mr.—" Sarah blinked at the empty spot next to her. "Oh…where'd he go?"

* * *

><p>Branches lashing against the window downstairs elicited a gradual awakening to an embrace of warmth snugly contoured to his frame. His first thoughts were of classrooms and crowded hallways, jeering kids and the melancholic gaze of the one with obsidian hair. <em>I'm not in school… <em>He opened an eye, seeing the frizzy fibers of his blanket. Shuddering at the implication of his current location, the comfort surrounding vanished as if someone had ripped the covers off. Staring at the ceiling, he finally noticed the faint ringing of the phone downstairs and a kick of anticipation drove him out of his room.

The living room was dark and he was virtually blind as he quickly felt his way around to the TV stand. His socked feet padded against the carpet, his knee knocking into the back of the recliner. Instead of feeling pain, he only grew more irritated and he snatched the flashing phone off its base. "Hello?" he snapped.

"_Cerul? It's me. Listen, I got a call from the school today._"

"Father!" He instantly regretted the cross tone and hoped his father hadn't picked up on it. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused, it won't happen again." That was just what he needed now, for his father to lecture him on how he had to disrupt his work day to take him home. What was causing him an itch in his mind though, was that he couldn't even remember it. What he did find odd was that he had been tucked into bed and his father would certainly never do _that_. His stomach constricted like a boa. _It was…Sebastian again._ And that was enough to bring a throbbing protest to the forefront of his skull.

"_A tutor? Seriously, are you slacking off that much?_"

"Tu-tutor?" Cerul rubbed his forehead, finding that wincing didn't help. Was he not even going to bring it up? He was fine with that.

"_Don't play dumb. They said the first quarter was mandatory, but I want you to prove to them you don't need one, is that understood? I'm disappointed. Can't you even excel in school?_"

"I'll do better." The question hovered behind his lips, but he didn't want to ask whether he'd come home in fear of the off-chance the question would have a guilt-trip effect on him. As far as he was concerned, his father didn't have to come home ever. There was a few seconds of silence and the hang-up followed shortly after. The ending of the conversation had left him without a purpose and the darkness surrounding him seemed a little more…well, _dark_. And impenetrable. Running back was out of the question; it only ever made him feel chased.

Still fighting the ache in his head, he set the phone down—only to knock it over in a startled fit at the curt knocking on the door. His heart immediately sunk, even with disbelief's uncertain laugh echoing in his ears. The rain hadn't progressed to a light drizzle, making any visitor automatically determined. The fact that he even had a visitor meant this determined person had a purpose. "Go away!" Another bout of knocking was his answer and seized with a frantic urgency to get him to stop, Cerul stormed across the living room, banging his hip on the couch's back. The frustration came in double waves.

"_Have I enlisted the help of a half-wit? You don't leave me alone ever! Unless I command you to, you will be here—that is your job. You are my shadow." The small figure stomped off. _

He flung open the door, nature taking the opportune time to dazzle his already-poor sight with a silent flash of lightning. Not yet thoroughly drenched by the pouring rain, there stood the man somehow responsible for his disintegrating grasp on reality. Staring agape up at Sebastian, it seemed his smile was almost malignantly twisted as he bowed his head slightly in greeting, raindrops trickling down his angular face.

"I'm relieved to see you're well. As the school granted me lodging next door, I thought it best to make sure of it. I believe the saying goes 'strike while the iron is hot'. …Oh dear, was I perhaps too quick in my presumption? Are you still unwell?"

With only one eye, it didn't take long for his world to turn black and the last thing he heard escorting him into darkness as he slumped to his knees, was a throaty croon of a chuckle and a tickle across his cheek like a feather.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope it was enjoyable and that it still makes sense XD If y'all could do me a big favor and like my book's Facebook page (noairinspace), you would make this fledgling author the happiest person ever c:**


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